A Twofer
by Annabel Lee
Summary: Two of my old stories, re-posted together... Scully has to take the risk of revealing her true feelings for Mulder; First chapter is Scully's POV, second chapter is Mulder's POV.
1. Another Heart Through the Windshield

2AnotherAttempt

TITLE: Another Heart Through the Windshield  
BY Annabel Lee  
DISCLAIMER: The X-Files and its characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and FOX. No copyright infringement is intended; I'm just doing this for fun!  
Also, Edie Carey is the talented songstress that wrote the lyrics to Come Close. I hope she doesn't mind that her wonderful music is being borrowed for something so silly as my little fanfic...  
FEEDBACK: Yes, please!  
DISTRIBUTION: Please just let me know where it will be, and keep my name attached.  
SUMMARY: Scully has to take the risk of revealing her true feelings for Mulder. Anytime before All Things, I suppose...PG13 for some language...  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I thought I'd never write something like this, but then I just had this unexplainable URGE. I just had to get it out of my system...  
This is a re-post, but it hasn't been re-edited...  
  
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we could stand here til' i say let's go, you say wait, but i don't wanna put my heart through the windshield just to watch it break   
we try to stop as if we can we know we gotta know we gotta cool this warming trend i guess our little hands had other plans we make the rules and then they just bend them  
-Edie Carey, Come Close  
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Another Heart Through the Windshield  


  
  
So what do I do now? We're out by my car, Mulder and I, freezing to death in the parking lot after work. We have been discussing the case that Skinner is determined to put us on. he had said that morning in his office. Images of Mulder and my getup as Rob and Laura Petri flashed through my mind. I blinked. Oh no, not again, I thought to myself. I'm pretty sure the both of them had noticed me shift in my chair uncomfortably. That case had been hard on me; there was that one night that took all of my energy to keep me from fully playing out my part as wife, if you catch my drift...I couldn't help but do a double take every time I heard Mulder crack an innuendo-laden joke my way. What if he's serious? a voice in my head would ask. I was constantly busy pushing that troublesome voice away, reminding my rational, scientific, FBI agent-self that Mulder was just playing around, as usual. How did this ever happen to me? How did I ever manage to fall in love with this man? How come the only thing I want to do every day of my life is against protocol? Damn protocol...  
  
And so here we are. We're out by my car, Mulder and I, freezing to death in the parking lot after work. We have been discussing the case that Skinner is determined to put us on. No, not discussing. We have been arguing. It seems as if we have been arguing about it for hours, standing stubbornly in the wintery wind. I won't drive him home until he understands fully that I will not be joining him tomorrow morning on the plane to Michigan. I had spent the last few minutes tossing out excuses for my refusal to join him, and each one was shot down. They were all such stupid, trivial reasons, and Mulder could see that. As if anyone who knew me would buy the story about me not wanting to leave home on a new case until I got my favorite pantsuit back from the cleaners...and so it was revealed that I didn't like going undercover.   
  
he had said, incredulous.  
  
I just don't like going undercover, I mumbled pathetically.  
  
Oh come on, Scully! You know that I'm not a big fan of it either, but it's never stopped us before. It's a hassle, but it's usually over after a couple days or so. That can't be it.  
  
But that _is_ it, Mulder.  
  
No, then there's got to be more to it than that.  
  
It's just...it's stressful. What a bad explanation.   
  
he almost shouted, holding in a laugh. Scully, this whole fucking _job_ is stressful! Pardon the language there, but now _really_! You can't be serious...it's stressful'...for the love of Pete... He didn't buy that one, either, obviously. Not like I had expected him to or anything, but it was worth a shot. I had tried again.  
  
I know, I know, but...well, you remember the last time we went undercover, don't you? We were Rob and Laura Petri, of all--  
  
Oh jeez, this isn't about the _names_, is it Scully? he interrupted. You can pick them this time, okay? There, problem solved! He almost turned to get into the passenger seat of the car.  
  
Dammit, Mulder! It's not the stupid names! Don't you see? I'm sick of being put into these situations, these awkward positions! Playing these roles that...well, who are we supposed to be this time? Did Skinner say newlyweds again? Yes, he did. Newlyweds. Of course, it's all supposed to be just a meaningless little operation, put on so that information can be gathered, suspects can be observed, and, if we're lucky, a case can be solved. Well I'm sorry if it has a little bit more of an effect on me than that, Mulder! I'm sorry if I have feelings in me that need to be suppressed constantly, I'm sorry if I have stuff on my mind that cause everything to seem more intense than it should, and I'm sorry that this all keeps me from going undercover as your _wife_, of all things. There. I had blown up at him. Not quite screaming, but just loud and firm enough that it startled him. At least, I thought that was what happened. When Mulder still didn't speak, and I felt as though I needed to wrap up my little tirade with a gentle explanation: I'm just not mentally equipped to go through this kind of thing again... And he still wasn't saying anything, just looking at me as if he had had a brilliant idea, but couldn't quite figure it out. Then, I saw it; I had just managed to screw myself over royally.   
  
Although I hadn't come right out and said it, I'm sure that I had just about spelled it all out for him. To anyone who knows me as well as Mulder does, my little outburst could easily be translated into: I can't go undercover with you, Mulder, because I just might go crazy from love and I don't want that love to become apparent and risk my being rejected. It would just ruin the amazing friendship we already have. I don't want that. And even if you did feel the same way about me that I feel about you (which I believe that you do), it would pose an immense risk to our jobs.  
  
So what do I do now? We're out by my car, Mulder and I, freezing to death in the parking lot after work. He's looking at me with a mixture of surprise and...glee? Could that be glee? I don't think that I was expecting glee...In fact, I'm sure that I look as if I'm ready to be reprimanded, told that I'm not allowed to feel the way I do and given a lecture on how dare I even think about going against protocol like that. Damn protocol...  
  
Then, just as soon as I think that Mulder's emotion could look like (what a strange word, I realize), he turns into I knew it. The bastard wants me to actually say it. Still, it seems as though I have the two choices I have always had. I can confront this nasty little situation or leave it do be dealt with another time, perhaps after he gets back from Michigan. While I'm weighing these two options in my mind, I can tell from the look of slight nervousness playing across Mulder's face that he knows I have found a way out. Now to see if I'm going to take it.  
  
Two options, Dana: Face the beast, take it by its wretched horns, and hope that it doesn't throw you down and trample you to death. _Or_ turn and run from it again like the coward you really are when it comes to love. Choose option number two and the beast will never stop chasing you, but you can at least put off death until another, more convenient time. Sounds good to me. I will deal with this when I'm more prepared.  
  
Let's go, I say, turning. He hasn't spoken for so long that I'm startled when I finally hear his voice.  
  
I definitely wasn't counting on this happening, so my curiousity and dread rise within me. I turn to look at his blank face staring back at me over the shiny roof of the car. His eyes are laughing. How irritating. How loveable. Argh. I must insist that you explain yourself, Agent Scully, he says, enjoying every moment of this. No, I cannot. I'm not prepared for this right now, why can't we just avoid it for a little while longer? I refuse to take such a foolish risk. I've never been one to take risks when it comes to my heart. Falling in love with this man was bad enough; letting him know would be like putting my heart through the windshield only to see it break into a thousand tiny pieces. It would be such a waste...wouldn't it? But he's still standing there, looking at me with those godamned beautiful eyes. He's making it so hard to think straight, I'm almost ready to just give up and take the plunge. Get it over with.  
  
Explain myself, Mulder? Okay, fine. I love you. How about that? Satisfied? I can tell that he is, in fact, quite satisfied; this is proven further by his reply.  
  
Oh, very. And you know what, Scully? I love you, too. He grins, and so I smile in return. It feels extremely good to throw your heart through a windshield and see it land softly onto a plush cushion, unscathed. What was I afraid of again? Ah yes, the aftermath. The damn protocol. My heart may have landed safely on the other side of the jagged windshield, but it still risks being run over by a speeding car. Damn protocol...  
  
Mulder must have noticed the worry playing across my face, because his eyes suddenly decided to become more serious. What's wrong, Scully? he asks.  
  
Oh, to hell with protocol. I say at last. Absolutely nothing. The whole issue with that damn protocol can be worked out later. I'm not about to let something like that ruin my happy mood. I mean, it's not every day that a heart is safely put through a windshield. Come on, Mulder. It's getting dark and we have a plane to catch in the morning. We both exchange smiles, climb into the car, and sit for a moment in silence.  
  
So I guess that means you're coming with me to Michigan after all, he says once buckled in and comfortable. I laugh.  
  
Yes, you win. I'm coming. He looks extremely pleased. Suddenly, I can't take it any more. I have to kiss him. So I do. And it's amazing, just as I have always imagined. He's so warm, and his bottom lip fits perfectly to mine. We must have been made for each other, I think to myself.   
  
After dropping Mulder at his apartment, I find myself watching the streetlights glint off of the rain on my windshield. The reds, yellows, and whites flash and dance across the glass, and I sigh, thinking about how wonderful it all seems. For once, I can't wait to go undercover.  
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another AUTHOR'S NOTE: please write a review! thanks!  



	2. Lucky...

2AnotherAttemptII

TITLE: Lucky...  
BY Annabel Lee  
DISCLAIMER: The X-Files and its characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions, and FOX. No copyright infringement is intended; I'm just doing this for fun!  
FEEDBACK: Yes, please!  
DISTRIBUTION: Please just let me know where it will be, and keep my name attached.  
SUMMARY: Mulder's point of view, now...  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a response to a challenge (to re-write Another Heart Through the Windshield in Mulder's POV).  
This is a re-post, but it isn't re-edited...  


  
Lucky...  


  
  
Okay, so Scully is acting strange. She's lost that self-confident air that is always about her. Those mind-numbingly blue eyes are constantly turned down towards the concrete. She's mumbling. Scully doesn't mumble. What could possibly be making her act this way? It's hard for me to analyze this woman's true thoughts and feelings when my fingers are so numb, though. I slip my hands into my coat pockets after breathing into them and rubbing them briskly against each other. The wind is so cold... When did it get so cold? Another winter has snuck up on me again.  
  
  
Scully doesn't look cold at all, just different. As if she's avoiding something. I think that this all started this morning, actually. I believe she was her usual no-nonsense self before we met with Skinner... The first un-Scully-ish act I noticed was her shifting in her chair. I don't think I remember seeing her her shift around like that before, especially with that uneasy look on her face; as if Skinner's case assignment was a death sentence. And she couldn't stop fiddling with her hair, either. Tucked it constantly behind her right ear, then left, then right again, then both at the same time over and over again as well. She was absolutely...twitchy. Squirmy. Like a little child during an especially long church sermon or cross-country car trip. Scully absolutely did not fidget, and then there she was. Fidgeting. Yep, _that _was where the strangeness all started.  
  
  
At least now, as we debate her reluctance to fly to Michigan tomorrow morning (which tipped me off on this strange behavior in the first place), she has overcome her extreme case of the fidgets from earlier. Still, I find her newly-acquired habit of not being able to look me in the face just as unusual. This is insane. I have spent the last few minutes listening to my partner mumble silly excuses at me.   
  
  
Since when is Scully concerned about missing a lunch date with a friend? Since when does Scully even _have_ a friend? I mean, no offense to her social skills or anything, but she isn't exactly the type of woman that has time to make friends, or even to give time to friends she may already have. Our job doesn't really allow either of us to make plans for lunch, seeing as what state we might be in during the week is pretty unpredictable. Neither of us have a social life. I tell her this. She looks at the ground. Running out of excuses, eh Scully? Oh, wait, apparently not. She has one more story to throw at me. Her favorite pantsuit. Her favorite pantsuit?! No way is Agent Dana Scully missing an undercover operation in Michigan because she wants to get her favorite pantsuit back from the cleaners before she leaves town. Who does she think she's trying to fool? She knows that I won't fall for something as silly as that; the last thing on Scully's mind when she leaves town is pantsuits. I give her a look of disbelief. She knows that it's time to tell me what's _really_ going on with her.   
  
  
Well, who'd have guessed that her supposed real reason for not wanting to fly to Michigan would be that she didn't like going undercover? I am incredulous. I am also the slightest bit annoyed at her pathetic re-mumbling of I just don't like going undercover. Truthfully, I hate it, too. It's a real pain in the ass, but we always get through it just fine. Plus, we can always make it fun. Hehe, I remember this one time when we were in this creepy little town that didn't like pink flamingo lawn ornaments, askew mailboxes, portable basketball hoops, or reflecting pools in the front yard. In fact, they didn't like _anything_ to be look the least bit different than anything else. There were even rules about lights that went out in the walkway lanterns at night. Anyway, I had a lot of fun with Scully; hell, she was my wife. How is that not fun? So I tell her that she should know that I like going undercover just about as much as she does, but that we'll get through it as always. That can't be what's bothering her.  
  
  
That can't be it, I say.  
  
  
But that _is _it, Mulder, she insists. Yeah, right. I don't accept that; I tell her there has got to be more to it than just that. It's just...it's stressful. Wait, did she just say that she didn't like going undercover because it was _stressful_?! Yes, she definitely did. I could almost scream, this whole situation is so frustrating... I end up kind of shouting about how the whole job is stressful, except that I actually drop an f-bomb. I usually manage to keep my language quite clean, but this threw me off. She just can't be serious. Stress comes with this job, as does paranoia, stunted social skills, and constant frustration. Hey, it's not easy to find the truth.   
  
  
I wish she would just let it all out, just tell me what is really and truly bugging her so damn much that her strange behavior is causing me to wonder if she could possibly be an alien shape-shifter. That would explain everything, although I would now have to kill her with a gunshot to the back of the neck. That would surely ruin my day even further. I know I'd be doing the human race a favor by eliminating yet another evil alien bounty-hunter, but I'd still have a hard time pulling the trigger. I mean, the alien still looks like Scully, even if it's not doing a very good job of impersonating her. It hasn't even raised its eyebrow at me once today.  
  
  
I'm being ridiculous. This is Scully, not an alien shape-shifter. I don't think a shape-shifter would know about the Petris. Scully just mentioned our last undercover mission and her eyes rolled to the top of her head when she said Rob and Laura Petri. That's my girl, alright. First normal Scully-action of the day: rolling her eyes. Thank goodness. Now I don't have to shoot her. I interrupt her as she's finishing her sentence about our Petri characters.  
  
  
Oh jeez, this isn't about the _names_, is it Scully? You can pick them this time, okay? There, problem solved! What a silly reason to not want to go to Michigan; just because I chose bad names for us last time... How childish. I turn slightly to get into the passenger seat of the car, thankful to finally have solved the mystery. Time to go home.   
  
  
Dammit Mulder! Okay, never mind. Maybe I was wrong about the name thing. At least she's sounding more normal than ever. It's good to have her back, I just kind of wish she wouldn't yell. It's not the stupid names! Don't you see? I'm sick of being put into these situations, these awkward positions! Playing these roles that...well, who are we supposed to be this time? Did Skinner say newlyweds again? Yes, he did. Newlyweds. Of course, it's all supposed to be just a meaningless little operation, put on so that information can be gathered, suspects can be observed, and, if we're lucky, a case can be solved. Well I'm sorry if it has a little bit more of an effect on me than that, Mulder! I'm sorry if I have feelings in me that need to be suppressed constantly, I'm sorry if I have stuff on my mind that cause everything to seem more intense than it should, and I'm sorry that this all keeps me from going undercover as your _wife_, of all things.   
  
  
Wow. Did she just say that, or was I imagining it? Wow. Know what this means, Mulder you lucky stiff? It means she's in love with you. I know she didn't come right out and say it, but that's what it all means. I'm an expert translator when it comes to Scully. She was really saying I can't go undercover with you, Mulder, because I just might go crazy from love and I don't want that love to become apparent and risk my being rejected. It would just ruin the amazing friendship we already have. I don't want that. And even if you did feel the same way about me that I feel about you (which I believe that you do), it would pose an immense risk to our jobs. That's exactly what it means. Scully loves me. I don't deserve to be so happy, so lucky. I must look completely stunned. Oh, but I'm so happy. It feels like glee. What a strange word... I never use that word.   
  
  
She looks as if she's prepared to be lectured about what a risk this is to our jobs and, in a sense, to our lives. She looks so guilty, so ready to be punished or reprimanded or something. That is the last thing on earth that I want to do right now. I could care less about our jobs or even our lives at this moment. Dana Scully loves me. Wait, I don't know that for a fact, do I? My translating skills could be on the fritz (although I highly doubt that they are). She needs to say it herself; I give her my expectant look. I'm waiting for her to say it clearly, once and for all. It's not like she has a way out of this one. She's stuck. She has dug herself into a hole. I can tell by the look on her face; the way her eyes are kind of cloudy shows that she's thinking frantically, not bothering with anything else but the task at hand. To find a way out. There's only so much time until she realizes that there is nothing to do but tell me. I can wait forever. Actually, before this, I thought that I would have to do just that and was even prepared to do so. A couple more minutes are nothing.  
  
  
Shit. The thoughtful look on her face tells me that she has actually found an escape route. I'm getting nervous. Will she take the easy way out of this situation? Will she just ignore it all and walk away from me? She'll drive me home in silence, never show up at the airport, and have an even better excuse for her outburst planned out by the time I get back from Michigan. No, I won't let her do that to me, to her. Scully can't take the coward's route; we have to face this sometime, why not now?  
  
  
Let's go, she says finally, turning to open the car door.   
  
  
She's startled. So am I, but only for a moment. Suddenly I find this entire situation laughable. Holding back a small chuckle, I say I must insist that you explain yourself, Agent Scully. I am enjoying every moment of this.   
  
  
Explain myself, Mulder? Okay, fine. I love you. How about that? Satisfied? I have never been more satisfied in all my life. The glee is back, and I can barely speak.   
  
  
Oh, very. And you know what, Scully? I love you, too. I grin, and she smiles in return.  
This is turning out quite well. Oh, wait, now a look of worry is playing across her face. I ask her what's wrong, and even though she says it's nothing, I can tell that she was probably thinking about how this changes things. Scully is thinking about how this affects our job since our little situation is against protocol. Frankly, I could care less about protocol. She is all I care about, all I ever want right now. Even if this is something that They could use against us, it is all worth it. If the aftermath of our expressed love is chaos, then bring it on. Scully and I can take it.   
  
  
My thoughts are interrupted by her voice saying Come on, Mulder. It's getting dark and we have a plane to catch in the morning. After an exchange of smiles and buckling of seat belts, I speak again, asking if that means she will be joining me in Michigan. Scully answers me with a laugh and a Yes, you win. I'm coming. What a relief! I look at her, wishing she could understand just how happy she has made me. Then, out of nowhere, she is kissing me. I kiss her back, of course. What fool wouldn't? It's the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me, I decide. We fit together perfectly, as if we were made for each other.   
  
  
When we've finished, she turns nonchalantly to fit her key into the ignition. The car rumbles and starts. We turn on the heat to warm our icy digits (Although, what's the use now? That kiss has thawed me to the core of my being. The chill of that wintry wind is a mere memory now...).   
  
  
As we drive, a conversation starts. We talk of things that I never knew could ever be true. Her feelings about our last undercover case, for instance. I would never have thought it possible that Scully almost took me up on that offer of sharing the bed that night. She goes on to tell me about her feelings for me, how long she has had them and pushed them away. I assure her that I went through this as well. It's actually kind of humorous how much we worried about what each other thought or felt when there was no need to at all. We laugh and joke and tell stories throughout the ride. Before I know it, we're there. Time for me to go up to that lonely apartment and pack for our trip... I wrench myself from the car.  
  
  
See you bright and early tomorrow morning, Scully, I say with a smile still plastered onto my face. After today, is it possible to feel any other emotion than pure happiness?  
  
  
I can't wait, Mulder, she replies; it sounds genuine. After saying goodnight and slamming the car door shut, I find myself practically skipping up to my apartment and flinging my coat haphazardly onto a nearby chair. I then flop down onto my old couch, fold my hands behind my head, and grin like an idiot. I am one lucky son of a bitch.  
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another AUTHOR'S NOTE: please write a review! thanks!


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